


Irreplaceable

by extremesoft



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: (this is all just basically slapstick comedy despite the tags), Alternative Universe - Mafia, Bad Jokes, Character Death, Gen, Gun Violence, Guns, Implied/Referenced Torture, Language, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Possibly Pre-Slash, both as in sailor-like cursing and gratuitous toying with languages, ho ho ho merry christmas everyone!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21778042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremesoft/pseuds/extremesoft
Summary: "I simply trust that they’ll get killed if they’re stupid enough for that. -- And if they’re stupid enough for that, they wouldn’t have been useful to us anyway.”
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo & Max Verstappen, Kimi Räikkönen/Sebastian Vettel, Nico Hulkenberg/Carlos Sainz Jr
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21
Collections: Motorsport Secret Santa 2019





	Irreplaceable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cascadja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascadja/gifts).

> Firstly - this is probably the craziest thing I have ever written, and I've written some quite weird stuff, that's for certain! But I had an absolute blast with this piece, and I kinda hope it shows :D (Like, never before have I researched the effects of certain types of gunshot wounds or the structures of mafia organizations...)
> 
> I have also never ever written an AU setting before, and I did offer pretty much everything when I signed up for this, but when I saw the request I had gotten - **cascadja**, you bloody lovely piece of pancake with ice cream and chocolate, you really gave me something to think about, I tell you! :D ❤️❤️ Out of the three AU prompts I chose this one and decided to include all the pairings suggested in some form or another because why the hell not, and I could hug you breathless because this was extremely hard but also incredibly fun. And I can only hope this entertains you like a proper Christmas present fic should :3 Curtseys shyly.
> 
> Now that we're here, I would also like to thank **Charona** for their generous help with the German bits - vielen Dank, Schätzchen! The translations to the lines in German and Spanish can be found in the footnotes, apart from the one Carlos translates himself in the text. (I'll also add the Spotify link to the song Daniel is helplessly stuck with in the following, because I'm very very evil.)
> 
> Without further ado yet again, I want to wish **cascadja** and everyone else around here a very merry/happy/smutty/kinky/whatevery goody Christmas like I did last year, from the bottom of my silly heart, and I sincerely hope all of you who read this enjoy the utter chaos! ❤️

“I know we have to get Max out of there, but are you absolutely sure we can trust him to do that smoothly?”  
“We have to, there’s not much choice.” There’s a pause in the quiet conversation then that allows for a slow sip of nauseatingly strong coffee. “Besides, they have worked together for some time already and will know how to cooperate.”  
“Supposing they haven’t broken Max by now.” The sentence is followed by a shrug that completely - and unsuccessfully - contradicts the weighty doubt bleeding into it.  
“Max is tough.”  
“I know he is, he’s our very best. Daniel is just… I don’t know. A bit weird, sometimes.”  
“Well, if he’s weird enough to get himself or them both killed, then I think he deserves it. Of course it would be a shame for us, they’re both pretty good, but-”

Kimi stops mid-sentence to scratch his jaw with the hand that isn’t holding a humongous coffee mug, looking like he’s searching for words for a moment before settling for “I guess they are all replaceable” in the end.  
“You sound very relaxed, considering what the situation is”, Sebastian scoffs, clearly unimpressed.  
“I’m being realistic”, Kimi reasons and glances at Sebastian, face wonderfully void of any distinguishable emotion.  
“You trust too much.”  
“Nah, I simply trust that they’ll get killed if they’re stupid enough for that.” A dry smirk, a sly glint flashing across the sky blue of Kimi’s eyes. ”And if they’re stupid enough for that, they wouldn’t have been useful to us anyway.”  
Sebastian shakes his head but can’t help a sour smile. “I would like to argue with that but I think I can’t.”

\--

Daniel ducks down, closes his eyes and pauses to think, trying at the same time to bat a catchy and unbelievably ill-fitting earworm away from his goddamned bouncy brain. _Okay, focus_. Muting the surveillance cameras had been one thing, eliminating the beefy security guard another, having lost his way in the maze of interchangeable, dim corridors after the third turn right and being forced to return to the lobby and start again yet another. They never lose their way in movies, do they? Fuck, he’s nothing but fucking shit in a pile of fucking shit, shoved into some sort of a useless rescue mission of his fucking shit colleague. The gun harness seems to bite into his shoulders with more zest now than usual.

(They’ve ended up working together for the majority of the last few months but somehow it’s still far too committing to call Max a _partner_, and it also sounds too much like cop bull, so. Fucking shit colleague it is until proven otherwise.)

They’re holding him somewhere in the cellar level. That much Daniel knows for certain. He’s hiding in a shadowy corner not far from the freight elevator, weighing his options. Not that there’s many of them. The elevator would be quick but noisy, the stairs silent but slower and more uncertain - it’d most likely not be open doors, cold drinks and warm hugs what he’d face at the bottom of the stairs, once he had gotten there, instead of fire doors ten inches thick and armed with alarms, face recognition and probably cup holders as well for all he knows. (Ventilation shafts- oh, hell no, that’s way too _Die Hard_.) Should he go with the elevator, he would probably have a better chance to at least get to the cellar and catch a glimpse of Max before both of them being shot to death by at _least_ fifty men wielding at _least_ four machine guns each.

He isn't jittery, is he? No, he isn't bloody jittery. He's on a job and people aren't jittery when they’re on a job. They are certainly aware of awaiting dangers like complete destruction, being mutilated into pieces and having to witness the painful executions of their colleagues, or friends, or family members. But despite all that they're never jittery. They laugh in the face of terror, grab the at least fifty men wielding at least four machine guns each by the bollocks and rip them off with their bare hands.

Daniel opens his eyes again and straightens himself with a frustrated grunt. They're going to have to pay him so much he's going to need to _swim_ through the piles of money filling his apartment to get out of the door every morning, like Scrooge McDuck, once he's done fucking _rescuing_ and bringing home their favourite pet. He gives in to the persistent yet still ill-fitting ear-worm as he walks, and it must be the first time in history anyone has ever began trying to break into a sturdy freight elevator while humming the tune of _Sussudio_ to themself.

\--

"They're going to send someone to try to get him out of here first, and if it's Ricciardo, it shouldn't be too hard to get rid of him and send his balls to Vettel and Räikkönen in a cute little package."  
"What about Verstappen’s balls?"  
"No, we won't do anything about them yet. We'll wait and see what they're willing to sacrifice in exchange for their top soldier. How many soldiers and how much money."  
"If he was a top soldier, he would not have gotten caught like that."  
"It only tells about what's the best they can do, doesn't it? Our best is way better than theirs, simple as that."  
"_Eres tan sexy cuando hablas así_."

Nico chuckles and runs his hand down the curve of Carlos’ back. “I didn’t understand much besides the word _sexy_, but I still liked the sound of that.”  
“I said that you’re so sexy when you talk like that”, Carlos hums and bows to amply mouth at the side of Nico’s neck again.  
“You’re just plain sexy”, Nico mumbles, sinks into the embraces of both the armchair and Carlos and closes his eyes. Every taste of Carlos is like a sip of good port - dark, velvety, heating. Shame, really, that such a beautiful little thing has to be bumped off sooner rather than later since Nico can't afford to trust him one bit, in more ways than one; he isn’t nearly as fascinated by the idea of Carlos’ fingers coiling around his neck as he is by the idea of them coiling around his cock. He might be hedonistic, but above all he’s pragmatic. (Especially as the hedonism has resulted in Nico having gradually spent their firearms and staff budget playing deuce-to-seven triple draw poker. Not that anyone needs to know, Carlos in particular, but he's at his wit's end as for his debts; and now that he's got Verstappen in his clutches, he's going to milk Räikkönen and Vettel bone dry.)

Nico lets his lungs fill with the fresh scent of Carlos’ aftershave and grunts when Carlos’ teeth meet the dip right above his collar bone, but he doesn’t get very far at all in thinking about all the different meanings of cock and ball torture before a faint, faint _clang_ from somewhere outside of the office reaches his ears. Carlos stiffens on Nico’s lap, his hands instantly stop flexing on Nico’s hips and he lifts his head to meet the chilly, sharp gaze nailed on him.  
“What was that?”

Nico glances at the ceiling and huffs out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t believe it. Did the stupid motherfucker actually decide to take the elevator when it makes so much noise?”  
Carlos shakes his head, ebony hair elegantly swaying from side to side. “Ricciardo is an unbelievable idiot.”  
“Well, what more can you expect from that bunch of losers”, Nico sighs theatrically and idly squeezes Carlos’ arse. “I almost feel bad for having to eventually shoot him, now that he’s here. I think we could as well just let him get lost inside the building and die of hunger before he gets even a whiff of Verstappen.”  
“It would be very amusing”, Carlos ponders and tilts his head like lost in thought, “but I also think it wouldn’t be as much fun for us, or for our guest. He needs to be kept entertained.”

“_Du bist so sexy, wenn du so redest_”, Nico grins, wolfish, and decisively pats Carlos’ thigh. “Okay, we’ll let him wander there for a little while longer and then we’re going to go and have some fun, baby.”  
“_Pensé que nos estábamos divirtiendo ahora_”, Carlos snorts before bending to kiss Nico. Nico promptly opens his mouth to kiss back and makes a mental note to put Carlos to death as soon as he’s finished with the Verstappen case.

\--

_Now she don’t even know my name, but I think she likes me just the same..._

_Hey, hey- concentrate._

_Su-Sussudio-_

_Christ on a speeding motorbike, honestly. They’re bound to know you’re in here, they probably knew you’d be in here even before you got here, you’re going to go down guns bangin’ and your bowels splashing all over the walls right in the heart of enemy territory while trying to save your stupid, useless colleague, and what you have playing in your head is some fucking Phil Collins you happened to hear for three whole seconds before you changed the channel. At least the song would leave you alone if you just saved everyone’s time and let them shoot you._

Being generally regarded as a bit of a clown has its sides, both up and down. It’s the impression Daniel kind of prefers to give, de facto - it’s easier to stay alive when you don’t seem like anything worth wasting expensive bullets for. Or even the cheaper ones. Then again, it’s harder to earn unconditional trust (in the broadest sense possible, given the field in question) when you don’t seem that competent on the surface, his own as well as anyone else’s. Of course he’d be mince meat by now if Kimi and Seb didn’t trust him, but he just doesn’t like the fact that he actually feels thinly surprised himself about a) having gotten into the elevator to begin with, b) having also gotten out of the elevator, _alive_, and c) not facing the at _least_ fifty men wielding at _least_ four machine guns each straight after. Either he’s a real fuckin’ ace or they’ve made it simple on purpose. Or they’ve ran out of money to hire men and buy machine guns. (What a hilarious thought!)

Well, makes getting to Max just a tad easier, at least. Getting out… a whole different matter. Geez.

Daniel squeezes his beloved Beretta tight against his chest, against his hammering heart. He has decided to hate Max’s guts with passion about seventeen times during the last minute and a half, and if Max isn’t knocking on Heaven's door already by now, he’s going to be made to by Daniel himself for having shoved him into this pile of crap head first. But the solitariness also seems to weigh so much more now that Daniel is by himself, only him and his gun wading through the shadows.

He glances around the corner and his lip twitches upwards with a non-smile. Max is a cocky asshole, sure, but there's still something worth marveling in the way he always keeps his cool, face unchanged no matter what. They have actually done pretty well together, now that he thinks of it, Max being stone cold and Daniel vivacious. A perfect cocktail of personalities balancing each other. It's almost like some kind of yin and yang bullshit, isn't it?

Oh, screw it. Daniel is going to find Max, and then they're either going to die leaving behind a morbid mess or they're going to get back to Kimi and Seb and Daniel is going to beat the living daylights out of Max. Daniel's eyes sharpen as they sweep the poorly lit corridor. The air reeks dull, of dust and detergent.

_Oh, give me a chance, give me a sign..._

\--

"Stop checking your watch every three minutes."  
"I'll stop as soon as we hear something."  
"Bwoah. It's not going to speed things up, you know. It only feels worse if you keep doing that."  
“I’m going to shove this watch up your ass if you don’t shut your mouth, Kimi.”  
Smirk. "I know something else you could put th-"  
"You'll be dead if you finish that sentence."

Maybe later, then.

\--

Daniel hadn’t exactly expected to find a sign saying “Hostage room” on any of the doors, of course. But he also hadn’t expected to actually find the right door fucking _unlocked_, slightly open in an awfully generous welcome. Not good, not good at all. The smoother it all goes, the more it feels like he’s nothing but walking into a gigantic mousetrap with Max serving as the delicious piece of cheese. He’s not going to make it out alive and he knows that. He’d better prepare for all possible ways of having his testicles painfully separated from him.

He edges the Beretta carefully through the narrow gap first, then pushes the door slowly open and peeks inside. His eyes take their time to get used to the darkness, what little light seeps into the room from the corridor being his only aid; but he gradually starts to make out the outlines of the concrete pillars and sewer pipes adorning the room, and in the middle of the floor lies a scrappy heap of what seems like black clothes and paleness. It’s Max, bound to be. The sight makes Daniel’s throat tighten more forcefully than he could’ve pictured. (Not that he cares, that's not a part of the job description. It just doesn’t look _right_.)

_She makes me nervous, makes me scared…_

He sneaks slowly closer, squeezing the gun handle so tight it makes his fingers prickly. Lurking around in eery silence has never been something that particularly suits him, and he has to bite his lip hard to not lose it and just yell “‘kay, listen up, sons of the Hülkenberg bitch” on top of his lungs. Not that keeping from shouting will keep him from dying in the end, but it might prolong his life expectancy for, dunno, some three seconds.

\--

“Let’s take the stairs. We’ll give them some privacy for a little while longer.”  
“_Sí._”  
“_Seufzer. Wenn das hier vorbei ist, erinnere mich daran, dich umzubringen._”  
“_¿Qué?_”  
“Nothing, I was just thinking out loud.”  
“_Esta bien. Gilipollas._”

\--

Daniel crouches next to Max and places his index and middle fingers on the side of his neck. There’s something blemishing the smooth skin that feels like dried blood and it makes Daniel swallow, but there’s also a steady pulse undulating against the pads of his digits. He feels mildly relieved when Max stirs. He’s not sure whether that’s necessarily a good thing.

“I’m alive, idiot”, Max mumbles weakly, verily confirming what Daniel had already come to notice. Daniel snorts quietly and lifts his hand.  
“Not for much longer when they come to get us, asshole”, he whispers back while trying to assess Max’s situation. They’ve used an ample amount of white cable tie on him, loops and loops of it cutting deep into his wrists and ankles; there are brand new holes in his t-shirt and dark stains around them. It’s hard to distinguish Max’s face in the dimness, but the other side of it seems darker than the other, as if blotched with bruises, and for some mysterious reason Daniel can’t shake the feeling of subdued nausea at the sight of Max like that.

“They seem to have given you a good whipping”, Daniel murmurs as he tugs his right trouser leg up and snatches a folding knife from the small holster right above his ankle. “And I’m about to give you one too, y’ know, if we get out of here alive - which is not gonna happen, but-”  
“They probably wouldn’t kill you straight away even if they caught you”, Max ponders matter-of-factly, voice constantly getting stuck in his dry throat. “First they would make sure to let Kimi and Seb know they’ve gotten you too. Then they would probably try to get something out of you.“  
“The only thing they’d get out of me right now is this fucking song that has been playing in my head since I got into the car and listened to for the few seconds it took me to change the bloody channel”, Daniel grumbles. He’s hastily sawing through the bindings on Max’s legs, heart hammering so forcefully he thinks they’ll hear the noise it makes in the upper levels. “That’s not worth much.”

Max chuckles. It’s weary, flimsy like a mere exhale, but it’s still such an unfitting noise it makes Daniel look up and glance in the direction of Max’s beaten mug.  
“I like you”, Max croaks. Daniel isn’t certain whether he smiles, but he is very certain that the drugs they apparently also have given him must have been some seriously powerful shit.  
“Shut the fuck up”, he mutters for good measure and fixes his gaze on the last three cable ties.  
“It’s been really different, working with you”, Max continues as if completely unaware of the meaning of the words _fuck_, _the_, _shut_ and _up_ combined. “You always sing in the car. Who sings in the car while tracking someone?”  
“They’ve hit you so hard on the head you’re talking crap.”  
“You sound awful but I kind of enjoy it.”  
“Max, _please_”, Daniel prays in sudden despair as he gets Max’s legs free and moves on to his wrists, growing ever more frenzied as the clock mercilessly ticks on (and also highly confused by Max’s spurious openness). “I know it’s really romantic here, mate, dim lights and sewers and all, but we really just have to get-”

“Have to get where?” asks a smirk-like, roughly accented voice from the door.

Daniel’s blood stops still in his veins, but his hands don’t stop working on Max’s bindings despite his slight worry about them being shot off any minute now. He doesn’t have to look up to know extremely well who it is.  
“To the toilet”, he answers audaciously - ever true to his nature - and top it with a shrug. He then turns his head to face Hülkenberg’s icy eyes and flashes a sardonic smile. “I gotta go real bad. But since you’re here now, I might as well take a dump on that unfortunate face of yours.”

Nico chortles in evident disbelief and cocks his head. Behind his back Carlos stares at Daniel, eyes narrow and sly.  
“Clever as always, Ricciardo. I’m sure you’ll be great fun when we get to seeing how much torture you can handle before your sorry employers decide to send some other idiot over and you die here right in front of Verstappen.”  
“I aim to please.”  
“Now could you _kindly_ stop cutting his ties?” Nico huffs, sounding like one of those psychopathic yet over-tired modern day Bond villains, and gestures lazily to his right with his gun. “I know you’re dumb but there’s a limit to everything.”

Daniel goes through a multitude of replies in his head, ranging from _fuck you_ to _yes sir_, and then opts for something that’s probably going to turn him into pulp - but if it also gives Max enough time to grab the familiar Beretta still laying on the ground, hidden between Daniel's knees, and blow the over-confident bastard and his wench's brains out, it's worth it. He glances down, meets Max’s eyes, tired but observant; and the strangest feeling of _trust_ surges through him quite uninvited.  
“Make me”, he says and cuts through the second to last cable tie.

A heap of things happen right after that, almost on top of each other, as if Daniel had lit a dynamite with a quarter-inch fuse. Max reaches stealthily for the Beretta and clutches it tight between his fingers. Nico fires a shot; the sound ricochets deafeningly from the concrete walls and romantic sewer pipes, yet Daniel swears it’s still nowhere near as loud as the one the bullet makes when it tears through his leather jacket and then his shoulder. Daniel collapses into a gasping mass next to Max, numbed by the white-hot scorch quickly spreading from the wound, stripes of saltwater slashing his cheeks. There’s a shot, a thump, third shot, Daniel can hear Max’s sharp groan-

and then there’s a fourth shot, a thud from somewhere in the vague direction of the door, and lastly

silence

-

  


  


Not complete silence, though, comes Daniel to conclude once the ringing in his ears has slightly subsided and his head reels with a tad less speed. It doesn’t take him long to determine that he’s indeed alive, what with the pulsating burn in his shoulder constantly reminding him of the fact. There waves a faint, wheezing breath next to him as well; and this time he gives himself the permission to feel the unavoidable mild relief. _He might be alive_.

Daniel levers himself clumsily upwards with his left elbow, teeth grinding together as the hurt keeps violently flashing through him, and takes a slow look around. Max lies next to him in a shuddering pile, still squeezing the gun in his hand like a lifeline and a brush of ruby red running down his arm and smearing his shirt. Nico is sprawled on the floor a couple of metres away, eyes and mouth hanging grotesquely open with the other eye also having completely vanished and left behind a black, blood-filled void. Carlos lies not far from the door, limbs starfished out in a way that could be called graceful if it wasn’t for the rapidly widening dark stain on his shirt and his leaden gaze. _He fucking did it. Baddies always talk too way much for their own good._

“Max”, Daniel calls, hushed. He waits and counts to one, two, three, gets no answer apart from the shallow, hitching breaths. He tries again and the chill of despair inevitably creeps up his spine as he gets to thinking about how the hell is he ever going to be able to drag Max out if one of them is unconscious and the other has had his shoulder shot to mash.

Then Max lets out a quiet whimper, and when he chokes _Daniel_ in a raspy, gossamer voice, it oddly feels to Daniel like the best song he has ever heard.  
“Y’ still alive?” Daniel asks. Just to make sure. (Not that he cares. It’s just not _right_.)  
“Yeah”, Max croaks and stirs with a pained hiss. “Flesh wound.”  
“Bastards.”  
“He shot you”, Max mutters then, the whisper strained with what Daniel thinks is most likely exhaustion and agony.  
“Well, it's pretty obvious you shot him more”, Daniel murmurs and his mouth coyly curves despite the ache and <s>jitteriness</s> awareness of risks still existing, inappropriate as always.

They can do nothing but lie there for one disoriented moment, half-paralyzed by the pain their wounds radiate and slackly listening to whether anyone else decides to comes in to try their luck with them (as in to get roasted by Daniel and put to death by Max). But nothing moves, no-one comes. In fact it's almost eerily quiet, and Daniel finds it so hard to believe he's almost convinced he has in fact passed out after Nico shot him and is now viewing a fever dream soon to be interrupted by Nico or Carlos beginning either water torture or extorting his family jewels. Wow. They really must have _severely_ ran out of money to hire men and buy machine guns. Daniel briefly wonders where it all went as he wrings himself tediously up, and together they begin their cumbersome limp towards the door and the maze of interchangeable, dim corridors.

\--

"They actually got out. Okay, well, I heard there wasn't practically anyone around but Hülkenberg himself and that pretty toyboy of his, and I don't know how that can be possible, but still. Now they're out of our way _and_ we got our top soldiers back. It's hard to believe but they work quite well together."  
"I told you. If they get killed, they deserve it. If they don't, they're good enough to be kept."  
There's the sour smile and shake of Sebastian's head again. "I've got to admire your positive attitude."  
"I know something else you could admir- _mff_."

There's no way Kimi is ever going to finish that sentence, is there?

\--

Days have come and gone. They make a finely matching pair now, Max and Daniel, both having had their right upper arms swaddled in thick bandages (Daniel's slightly thicker than Max's). They sit in the corner lounge of a shady bar in thoughtful but not uncomfortable stillness, root beers in front of them, and Daniel feels loose enough to out his gratuitous yet persistent irritation at himself.

"I wasn't of much use back there, really, was I."  
"What are you talking about? You were the one that got us out."  
"Yeah, I know, but I didn't- I reckon I didn't actually _do_ an awful lot, y' know. You shot them both, one ammo each, _out of which_ one straight through Nico's eye, done and dusted - and all I did was take a bolt in my useless arm. And have the stupidest of songs playing in my head the whole bloody time. I know I'm sounding pretty damn pathetic here, but I don't know how you always manage."  
"Okay, listen. What I _managed_ was getting kidnapped in the first place. To be honest, I think that we wouldn't be here having this conversation without you." There's an edge of steely sincerity in Max's voice now that's audible even over the continuous buzz around them and actually mutes Daniel for a second. "It was my fault you were there at all, and if you hadn't talked back to him and stalled him for an extra moment, I wouldn't have had the time to take your gun. So, yeah."  
"Well, I've always said that my favourite choice of weapon is a massive fucking nutsack, so- I guess it's whatever."

Something hangs in the air, right betwixt them yet obscured, when Max laughs lightly and glances at Daniel, and Daniel wonders whether he's actually starting to like his fucking shit colleague or whether it's just the dope-ass painkillers they've given him kicking in. He hasn't even beaten the living daylights out of Max yet like he pinky promised to himself. _Just say the word, oh, Su-Sussudio..._  
"You always hear how all soldiers are replaceable", Max contemplates and smiles at Daniel, dry but benevolent in a way that makes Daniel suddenly feel peculiarly warm. "But I think it would be pretty impossible to find a soldier quite like you anywhere."

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Du bist so sexy, wenn du so redest. = You're so sexy when you talk like that.  
Pensé que nos estábamos divirtiendo ahora. = I thought we were having fun now.  
Seufzer. Wenn das hier vorbei ist, erinnere mich daran, dich umzubringen. = Sigh. When this is over, remind me to kill you.  
Esta bien. Gilipollas. = That's okay. Asshole.
> 
> I feel so good if I just say the word: [Su-Sussudio!](https://open.spotify.com/track/4qM461TqtpnP4GLRIXwEnW?si=I499tWAFSheLZRK95BuLbA)


End file.
